


A cardinal aflame.

by obsessive_c



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Also I haven't written in a million years so its probably bad, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And diverges from there, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dragon Jaskier AU, F/M, Geralt is good at pushing what he loves away, It's a complicated and angsty mess ok, Jaskier and Geralt are both dumb and Yen just watches, Jaskier finally listens, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Starts at s1e6: Rare Species, no beta reading we die like men, run on sentences GALORE BABEY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessive_c/pseuds/obsessive_c
Summary: “Geralt?”A groggy but familiar voice woke him from his dream, and he opened his eyes slowly to see that his hand was stroking across Jaskier’s back, his skin much softer than what he was feeling just moments ago. He pulled it away, trying to shake the realness of his dream, and the loss of the warmth on his hand.“Sorry, Jaskier.” He began, feeling his friend shift from lying on his stomach to his side, facing away,  “I had a..”Blue eyes had now peered at him over Jaskier’s shoulder, and though it may be the darkness of the night and the nearly dead embers of the fire, they looked… different. They nearly caught Geralt in a trance, a beautiful, striking blue, like cracks in a glacier, the black of his pupil hardly visible. But when he blinked, they were back to their normal shape, round and drooped and a much softer cotton flower blue. Geralt wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming.“A dream?"---Destiny is a fickle thing, and it's about as linear as the crashing of waves. It takes finding a forgotten lute and folded red coat for Geralt to realize this. His destiny feels like it is miles and miles away and is yet standing with him. He's not sure what that means.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 34
Kudos: 342





	1. Dreams of red.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I spent a lot of time piecing this together, and if it seems kind of confusing, it will be cleared up as we go on! :DD

Geralt dreamed of red. It wasn’t a deep, sickening red that always felt hot on his skin, the proof of life that he had taken from the world. It didn’t linger on him, and make him feel slow, feel bad. It was a bright red. A crimson, so vibrant with color it seemed to be catching in his throat. It was like the red of flowers, the red of songbirds. But it was neither of those things, he noted as he watched the color slightly change, like it was flowing under clouds, the shadows passing over it softly. It was.. Moving. Shifting in his gaze like the fluttering of wings. He ached to reach to touch it, a force he couldn’t bring himself to deny bringing his fingers to rest on it. Skin, he realized, as he could feel the intake of breath as it moved again. But it was armored, like the leather on his shoulders. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t stiff and lifeless, as most of the things he touched were, dead. It was alive, and he could feel the warmth seeping through its scales. An odd sense of calm washed over him, as his hand grazed gently across it, and he could feel like he was finally whole from something he was missing, as a smile crept up the corners of his lips. It felt real, so real.

“Geralt?” 

A groggy but familiar voice woke him from his dream, and he opened his eyes slowly to see that his hand was stroking across Jaskier’s back, his skin much softer than what he was feeling just moments ago. He pulled it away, trying to shake the realness of his dream, and the loss of the warmth on his hand. 

“Sorry, Jaskier.” He began, feeling his friend shift from lying on his stomach to his side, facing away, “I had a..”

Blue eyes had now peered at him over Jaskier’s shoulder, and though it may be the darkness of the night and the nearly dead embers of the fire, they looked… different. They nearly caught Geralt in a trance, a beautiful, striking blue, like cracks in a glacier, the black of his pupil hardly visible. But when he blinked, they were back to their normal shape, round and drooped and a much softer cotton flower blue. Geralt wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming.

“A dream?” 

Geralt could hear the smile in his sleepy voice, and just grunted in response. Jaskier hummed right back softly, and Geralt could hear the sound of him rustling in his own bedroll, now facing Geralt as he was nearly enveloped in his furs, looking as serene as a babe. The calm sight made Geralt loosen a bit, his hand that wasn’t occupied moments ago going to rest on the furs and not the blade right next to them. 

“You’ll have to tell me about it in the morning.”

Jaskier muttered, trying to get himself more comfortable in the furs before stilling, and soon enough, Geralt heard that his breath evened back into the arms of sleep, and after listening to the wilderness around the two for any danger, Geralt soon fell asleep after. Dreaming of cold wind, the shifting of sun rays, and that bright, red. He decided it was beautiful.

\--

“Morning, my dear friend! Ready to continue this adventure?” The singsong of his friends lark voice woke him again, much more chipper than sleepy as it was before. He groaned, and rolled over in the sleeping roll that was by the fire they both slept by, grateful for the furs covering his shoulders as the sun and cool air bit through his armor, making him suppress a shiver. He admitted to himself as he sat up, in the mountains like this, it was very cold. Though no snow graced the peaks that were hardly above them, but the wind had a way to get under your skin. If he wasn’t able to detect it, he’d be sure some sort of magic dwelled in the mountains. But it was just nature, just life. 

He looked over to Jaskier, suddenly concerned about his human friend’s wellbeing, even if he’d never directly vocalize it. But Jaskier skipped around the campsite without a care in the world, blue eyes matching the sky all around them, surveying the land closely, for once in his life he was silent. He was wearing less warmth than Geralt was, his intricately woven coat was more for show than practicality (Like much of Jaskier was), but even as the wind wisped his hair with a sharp whistle, he didn’t shiver or complain outright, and as he looked off to the sloping valleys that were beneath them, a nearly infectious smile graced his face. 

“As ready as we could be.” Geralt finally gruffed, sounding more mad than he was as he stood up and tried his best to ignore the slight ache in his shoulders. He watched Jaskier stare into the distance for a moment before moving to gather his own bedroll and pelt, and Geralt didn’t notice himself fixating on the stark red of his coat until Jaskier looked up at him from packing his things, the echo of the smile before still on his lips. It was bright like a cardinal. The similarity of the red of his dream echoed, but he ignored it and pried his eyes away, readying and tying up his gear just as Jaskier did, hearing the soft hums of a tune he didn’t recognize fill the cool air. He hoped he would hear the ballad soon enough.


	2. Foreign tongues and whistles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey continues, and though Geralt is thoroughly enjoying the view of Yennefer, the idle chattering of Jaskier is non apparent, which makes him unsettled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I have one more chapter after this one prepped, I've just been rereading and revising for the past few hours lol. Thanks so much for reading!:)

The sun was higher in the sky and slightly warmer by the time that Jaskier spoke any words that were of Geralt’s importance,“Do you think we’ll be able to kill that dragon?” He mused lightly, voice light as he barely avoided tumbling over a root as he tried his best to keep up with Geralt, his lute on his hip making slight hums as the strings brushed Jaskier’s coat. His words were heard by more than Geralt though, as the two mountain paths went into one and the beautiful Yennefer walked alongside them. Jaskier looked over Yennefer for a moment, before decidedly ignoring Geralt doing the same, Geralts gaze nearly constant as he didn’t answer Jaskier and instead followed after Yen like a young, wordless pup. Yennefer laughed, and rolled her shoulders, Geralt watching her closely as if her smile was enough to ward off the wind chill. She looked back at him, and he gave her a small curl of the lip, only Yennefer noticing Jaskier’s slight scowl as Yennefer looked back past Geralt and to the bard.

“Yes, I think we will be able to Jaskier, best you do is stay to the side, can’t have the little lark lose its voice, eh?” 

She said lightly, the joking words honeyed but stinging nonetheless, patting Jaskier’s shoulder before continuing walking in front of them, giving him a wink as she went. Geralt let out a soft chuff and a shake of the head, and walked forward as well, leaving Jaskier alone on the path, his arms crossed and lips tight, blue eyes chilled with jealousy, before steps were behind him and he turned to see who it was.

Geralt gazed ahead at Yennefer, now walking alone as her friend Sir Eyek… went in quite an unpleasant way. He couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased, the man had been distasteful in the least, chopping the head off of a simply hungry creature. He shook off the resentment that was bitter like iron on his lips, and instead watched the way Yennefer moved, full of grace and poise, even on a mountain path. Her gait was smooth, similarly to a cat stalking, the sway of her hips catching his attention, making him gulp, the wind feeling all the more cool on his face. She wore all greys and blacks, just as he did, and he couldn’t help but think of the vibrant color of his dreams, how it would look on her and her intricately designed court fits, stark and red and beautiful. He didn’t notice Jaskier’s eyes on him, the wind was a bite enough.

Geralt had continued walking for sometime, more mellow than he usually was. It was only then that he realized it had been suspiciously quiet for the last 4 hours of the day, the near constant chatter of his friend not ringing in the air. He got confused, and turned to look to Jaskier. He was walking with Borch and his two companions slowly, no rush or pep in his usual step. His face was even and serious, and Geralt could count the times that he had seen that face on well… one finger. Tea and Vea, which had met him with scorn any annoyance the day before, both walked on either side with him, and the glow of admiration that many of Jaskier’s blushing maids has shown was clear on their features, which raised Geralt’s confusion even more. 

Borch walked alongside them as well, hands tucked in his pockets and he listened to Jaskier’s soft, and very non theatrical murmurs, Borch nodding every so often, before responding just as lowly. Geralt strained his heightened hearing to listen, hoping to gain some understanding from their words, but on the contrary, the language was nothing if not foreign to him, the twists of it and pitches from deep in their throats sounding wild and scratching to his ears. No words were on display for him to decipher, and he wasn’t sure if it was that, or the fact that his simple bard knew a language he had never heard, unsettled him more. He had half of the nerve to turn and ask, but when he did, he almost felt a pull at him from ahead. He shook his head as his main instinct was to itch for his blade, a thin line of a frown gracing his face as he gave in and walked ahead, reaching Yennefer, who barely slowed as he approached, looking up at him and gracing him with a smile that slowly crept up to her violet eyes, it was intoxicating.

“Yennefer.” He said gruffly, and he knew she could tell his mood had fallen from earlier that day, but instead of her eyes flitting to concern, the raised her head higher, curious.

“Geralt.” She responded just as evenly, not even having to look down at the ground as her careful footing stepped over a rock he was sure Jaskier would have tripped on. Her words continued, as well as the smile on her face. “What have you come to me for now?”

He let the innuendo roll off of his shoulders, in far too sour of a mood to play with the clever cat. “I can’t understand what Jaskier is saying to Borch or his guards..” He said, realizing how childish the words sounded as left his lips, making Yennefer laugh, deep and melodic, akin to chimes hanging in the wind. It took her a moment to get over the words said, shaking her head, her curls falling over her shoulder and framing her face.

“Well, I doubt that is a first, dear witcher? I admit, your lark, as charismatic as he may be, has a talent of confusing others with his speech. Though that odd talent has saved your skin more than once.” Her teasing voice and happiness rolled off of her like waves of smoke. She turned her head to look at Jaskier speak, her eyes watching how he stepped and spoke, seeing Tea and Vea look at him with affection in their eyes, and a twinkle of something Geralt could not identify shimmered in her violet eyes. “Look, he’s even won over the two warriors. Didn’t I hear him call them geese just a day ago?”

Geralt tired of the idle talk, the frown forming into a scowl, and he shook his head. “I don’t mean it as if he’s made friends. I literally can’t understand the words he’s sharing with Borch.” She nodded, and the smile faded from her face, looking away from the searching gaze of the witcher and instead up at the sky. 

“Perhaps our dear bard actually reads sometimes, hm? Not much time for it on the trails, but maybe some of his songs are meant for another tongue.” She said with a wink before continuing, “The wind could probably be making it worse as well, the whistle seems to drown out most idle noises and pronunciations at this height.” He could hear the tone of her voice falter a bit, the confident tone shifting up slightly as one did when they tried to redirect Geralt. He couldn’t smell any fear on her, though, so he just huffed, frustrated but not wanting to give her a counter argument, the two of them continuing the journey in silence, staying by her side as he tried to ward off the confusion that was now muddling his senses, hoping her presence would help. Too much silence. But the idea began to grow on him, the whistle itself trying to convince him of that truth as it sang in his ears.

\---

They all walked that way until sundown,the murmurs of an unknown tongue the only noise in the air that could be audible against the roaring wind of the mountains. Though it was confusing, Geralt found his ears focused on the foreign words in Jaskier’s soft voice against nature’s rage. As the sun set the warmth left with it, Geralt unable to ignore the cold that was seeping into his bones. Eventually, the dwarves suggested a shortcut to be able to get ahead of the reavers, who were more than willing to wet their swords with the blood of the beast alone, and gain the reward on their own. Yennefer couldn’t help but agree, and so Geralt followed, along with Jaskier and his newfound friends. Though the wind was the loudest noise, Jaskier’s usual squawking returned, and even though it was mainly complaints and words of fear, Geralt couldn’t help the slightest curve of a smile on his lips. Once they reached the rocky trail, something dark and off settled itself in Geralt’s gut. 

The sharp and bitter citrusy smell of fear reached him, and when he turned, Jaskier’s eyes were wide, looking into the fog below as he clung to the rockface, Yennefer teasingly making Jaskier go first. It all went surprisingly well for the first bit of it, and it was all silent again as they walked, aside from the creaking of the old dwarven path. They were halfway through it when the rotting wood gave way to Borch, Tea and Vea, Geralts arm straining as he held the chain, and more importantly, the life connected to it. He breathed heavily, brows furrowing as Borch looked up at him with an accepting gaze, Geralt unable to move, ignoring the threatening creak below his feet.

“Geralt, the planks won’t hold.” Yennefer’s urgent voice brought him back to awareness, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he could feel his foothold warping and aching at the pressure it was given. Denial was simmering behind his gaze, which Borch could clearly see, as he let go without another word, Geralt’s eyes widening, as if trying to let in more light to see the human shaped space in the fog, which covered itself instantly. He gave Tea and Vea pleading eyes as he began to try to lift them, but they both looked at each other for a moment, before letting go, There was utter silence for the time after, no screams or sounds of impact able to fight past the deafening whistle of air.

He was completely still for a moment, unable to process the lack of weight, the lack of life around him. It was Yennefer that pulled him away onto the safer section of the trail, her lips pursed as she looked at him for a moment, unspoken words and emotions shared before she continued, unable to set her own gaze behind them. Geralt’s gaze only left the scene behind him to look ahead, watching Jaskier look over at him mournfully before continuing. Geralt watched every step, every creak of the boards underneath the bard ahead of him, ready to spring at the next disaster to overtake them. But none did, and after awhile, soft humming whispered in his ear past the ambient noises. Another melody he didn’t recognize, and he could hear the nervous strain to the tune Jaskier sung, like a songbird who senses a cave-in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end for this one! It's much more sad than the first chapter, which I'm sorry to say, but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless! Again, Kudos and Comments are much appreciated! :D <3


	3. The Jackrabbit's request.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier talks to Geralt after they lost Borch. And he asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This one is very short compared to the other chapters, since its focused on mainly dialogue. I hope you enjoy! :)

After what seemed like endless fear and sadness, they finished the dwarven shortcut and were all able to finally get their feet on solid rock. The sun had risen when they did, and the chittering of birds seemed to fill the air, which had ended its rageful roaring and settled in, like a beast back to sleep. They were all tired for the short walk they did before having to stop, Jaskier’s head nodding forward as he walked a few times, Geralt watching him like a hawk watched for prey, for any sign of danger. Once his human friend’s legs seemed to shake, they stopped for camp. It wasn’t the most ideal and was mostly in the open, but they needed as much sun as they could get, and it wasn’t like any of the usual forest dwelling creatures called this altitude home. Yennefer gave Geralt a brief hand on his shoulder for comfort, before her gaze went to the campsite and she left him with Jaskier, who dropped all of the packs he was carrying with finality. 

There was no danger here. That’s what Geralt repeated to himself over and over as he helped Jaskier settle all of their supplies down, though Jaskier noted how Geralt’s bedroll was left rolled up against the rocks. Geralt was finally done with busying himself, and sat down on a rock, facing the vast valley below him. The only thought that came to him was the broken bones and blood of his newfound companions far below. It still sickened him, that he heard nothing when they fell. Nothing at all. The soft breeze, nor the birds, comforted him. Geralt sometimes leaned into the myth that witchers had no emotions, it was easier when he did. Easier to act as if he felt nothing, and he almost believed it, until he heard gentle footsteps approaching him as he sat. 

His heart ached as he recognized the cadence of the steps, and the sweet smell of honey and chamomile wafted its way past the sour smell of panic and sadness. Though he didn’t indulge in it often, he let himself take a breath in soley to smell the floralness of the bard as he sat behind him, the body warmth near him making him finally able to let out a breath of relief. Though his heart ached as much as his body did from travel, not all he cared for was gone. He couldn’t even pretend to be disdained at Jaskier’s presence at the moment, and the look he gave Jaskier made the bard’s face soften, scooting closer to Geralt until they sat nearly flush. 

“You did your best.” Jaskier began with simply, no complexity in his words or grandeur, his voice solemn but not cracking with any strong emotion, just sympathetic and calm. His blue eyes were clear and cloudless as they looked up to Geralt’s gold, if they were water Geralt would gladly dive in. “There’s nothing else you could have done.” The words, some of the most simple he had heard from his friend, comforted him, and though he didn’t know he needed to hear them, they filled his chest with an emotion he couldn’t name. Geralt relaxed further, nodding slightly and looking out into the valley. The sun was bright, and he could see two cardinals flutter about below. It was the first truly calm moment he had had in awhile, but it soon went with the smell of chamomile when he could smell apprehension on his friend, and he could feel the cadence of his heart change, if only slightly. It made him curious, and he had to will his brow not to furrow as he heard Jaskier breathe in to speak.

“Look,” He said, and Geralt could tell the words caught themselves in his throat, as it was a moment until Jaskier would continue. “Why don’t we leave tomorrow? That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion.” He could hear the soft smile in Jaskier’s voice, and would have sought comfort in the words if it weren’t for the apprehension molding quickly into fear. He wasn't used to the smell of fear on Jaskier, not from him anyway. He just ‘hm’ned in response, and heard Jaskier gulp. But the response seemed to fuel his friend enough for him to continue.

“We could head to the coast. Get away for awhile.” The sentence was said casually, as if he were asking to head into the nearest town for food and drink, but the message was louder than the lark could have ever sung out loud. He was asking him to run away with him, he was singing for him to stay. The unexpected nature of the question made Geralt’s throat tighten, and doubt and disbelief clouded the sentiment like fog against the sun. 

“That’s how you want to spend your days, Jaskier? What audience would fuel your art, your passion?” Geralt asked out loud, and the words came out as more biting, more mocking than he had intended. He sounded more like a snake than a wolf in that moment, but the doubt thrumming in his own heart made him not reel back. Jaskier didn't know what he wanted, not as much as he thought. Geralt didn’t deserve the softness he was being given, so he did what he always did when he was unsure of a situation. He proverbially bared his teeth. He felt the tension in the air rise, his own body stiffening in discomfort. He heard Jaskier’s breath quicken, and without even looking, he knew that now Jaskier was wringing his hands as he sat, something he always did when he had upset Geralt. Geralt felt as if it was Jaskier wishing he could snatch the question back from the air, feeling and hearing the jack rabbit of his heart quicken like a drum, prancing through a field, now being chased by a stalking wolf. His own heart hurt to make Jaskier so afraid, so nervous of him.

“You, Geralt. I wouldn’t need anyone else.” Jaskier said softly, and if the wind was any more wild in that moment he wasn’t sure he’d hear it, but the echo of it resonated deep in Geralt’s chest, making him grimace and his own heart catch in his throat. It wasn’t often he felt like this while speaking, and he felt his own hands balling into fists. He couldn’t even begin to process what that meant, even though it was clear as the sky above them, so he turned, to see wide, fearful, eyes looking at him, searching for any response. Geralt had none other than,

“Don’t be a damn fool, Jaskier.” The words sunk into Jaskier like teeth, and Geralt could visibly see him deflate, eyes now down, none of the blue visible past his dark lashes. Geralt stood swiftly, a slight shake to his head as he patted Jaskier on the shoulder, noting how hollow his friend now seemed, Jaskier’s eyes far away. Geralt looked back to the camp, smelling the salt of tears in the air, and quickly walked away despite everything in him roaring to stay. If he looked back now, he would see the soft shaking of the shoulders of his bard as he let the salt fall from his eyes, and his stark redness of his coat alone against the bleached white stones. But he didn’t look back. The jack rabbit stilled, now alone. Geralt would not understand what this would mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant it when I said its sad and yearning! :'((( I hope you liked it regardless!<3


	4. A salved blade.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes to Yennefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! Worry not, the next one just needs editing and it'll be posted! It will be a long one lol.

Geralt had gone to Yennefer that night, the pain in his chest from nothing from the words he had stricken Jaskier with. It was unbelievable to him. He knew Jaskier had feelings for him, but he had hoped with all of his soul that it would be fleeting, like everything else in Jaskier’s life. But it wasn’t, not with the way those blue eyes glittered him like he was the world Jaskier wanted. His face was still grimaced, still tense, when he arrived at Yennefer’s tent. He didn’t ask to enter, he never did, and as always, the thing was anything but quaint, a large bed and several tables somehow able to fit in the space. In any other circumstance, he would make some dry joke about the extravagance. 

She heard him enter, and the smile on her painted lips faded as soon as she turned to look at him, seeing his posture taut like a bow about to fire, his eyes clouded with an odd expression, fists curled. His breathing was labored as she approached, and it was only then that her structured grace faltered just a bit, her violet eyes searching his as she slowly, so slowly, raised a hand, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. He would never admit the way he leaned into it, the emotion of regret bubbling up his throat, shaking his head as he softly muttered Jaskier’s name. She nodded, and soon her other hand was on his face too, cradling the lumbering wolf as he struggled to meet her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to run back outside into the sun and cold and return to him, but the ache of loathing in his chest kept him still. Not for the bard, he could never hate him, no matter how exasperating he may be at times. The draining and bitter emotion was only reserved for himself, weighing him down. He put Jaskier in enough danger as it was, and he couldn’t afford to give himself the opportunity, the hope, of living a life with him. Yennefer’s sharp but soft voice brought him back from his stupor, like a blade coated with salve, the pain enough to be noticed but still soothe. 

“You don’t have to explain anything, Geralt.” She said, the words so strong that it made him nod, finally looking into her lavender eyes. He found it odd, that she didn’t want to know what had happened. Yennefer was nothing if not a seeker of knowledge, even if it was just idle gossiping or complicated incantations. He wondered if she knew. But if she did, she spoke none of it, her hands leaving his face and one going to hold his hand, gently easing the tension out of it, guiding the fingers gently out of the tense posture to be stretched out, Geralt watching it, his breathing beginning to slow as he let his mind wander from the pain. 

He didn’t note the slow blinking he was giving Yennefer, but she did, making her lips form a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She must pity him. But if she did, it wasn’t spoken, as she slowly walked him towards the bed. “Sleep, Geralt. We can talk about this later today.” Yen said with an air of finality, and he couldn’t deny the allure of the soft bed and its silken covers. Nothing like the furs he usually slept in. Nothing like the ones that smelled of Jaskier, he heard a voice from deep within whisper. He shook off the discomfort, and felt like a child as he nodded and fell into the bed, letting the stress sink him into the bed, stomach churning as he pushed away the emotions of loss, Jaskier would forgive him, he reassured himself, as Yennefer held him. It would all be okay. It didn’t take him long to fall into sleep, and he dreamt of beautiful, striking reds and blues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'alls comments and kudos are so amazing to read! I can't express how happy it makes me that y'all like it! Worry not, stuff is about to go down in the next chapter! >;D <3


	5. The song of blood.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt wakes to find the dwarves have left without them, and he and Yen run after them. He doesn't notice the forgotten lute and red clothes left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daa!!! New chapter! It took me like 4 hours to edit, and forgive me if it seems clunky, im not the best at writing combat :'0 But regardless, I hope you enjoy! <3

He woke with a start, a sharp breath filling his lungs as all of his dreams of peace were interrupted, seeing Yennefer stalk around her room, grabbing her things and muttering under her breath. He sat up in an instant, the habit of tying his hair back with a leather band automatic. 

“Yennefer, what happened?” He asked, his voice still full of sleep but face steeled, slinging his sword over his shoulder. She looked up at him from her sheathing of her own blade, and her face flickered like she forgot he was there. Her look of confusion lingered for a moment too long, long enough for him to note it. But she shrugged, shaking her head. 

“Those damn dwarves left without us, you’d think they’d know to not cross an Aretuzan mage, but here we are” Her voice was venomous, and after she had what she needed, she stood and snapped her fingers, bed and furniture gone within an instant. The tent still stood, now empty. She looked around the area for a brief moment before turning, walking out, her curls whipping behind her. Geralt rolled his eyes, of course those money hungry men would try to kill a dragon without the two strongest warriors alongside them. A bunch of fools. He couldn’t just stand and ponder for long though, and went out the canvas door quickly behind her, having to brace himself at the roars of wind try to push him back, nearly deafening out anything, like nature had reared its rageful head to curse their attempts as hunting a dragon. He shook his head, closing his eyes for the quickest of moments, trying to level the noises with anything else. He felt as if something was missing, the weather gone too awry for him to pinpoint it, the wind nearly unbearable despite the nearly clear sky.

“Geralt! Let's move.” Her voice pierced its way past the wind, looking to see she was nearly out of his sight, already turning around a corner. He cursed under his breath and ran after her, not able to shake the growing of dread in his gut, leaving the camp behind in their wake without a second thought. He wouldn’t notice the lute and red coat resting by an empty bedroll in his haste. The felt, as if the wing roaring in his ears wasn’t enough, that this was only going to get worse.

It didn’t take them long to traverse the trail leading to the cave, both in complete silence as they moved quickly, Yennefer whispering words in elder that made their footsteps completely silent. When Geralt saw the rock wall forming and arching into a small cave, he slowed, tuning his senses to try to detect the presence of any dwarves. But there was no other noise filling his ears other than trickling water in the cave, and the deafening wind. This wasn’t the best place for him to be observant, but he took what information he got and walked slowly into the cave, not at all expecting the scene in front of them. 

Tea and Vea, ghosts, he thought for a quick moment, were both kneeling by a large green dragon. Well, the corpse of one, the skin looking cold and the golden eyes rolled back. He felt Yennefer’s breath sharply intake as Tea rose, and revealed a large, embering egg nestled safely between the dragon’s leg and tail. A mother’s last effort of protection to its unborn young. Even Geralt felt a frown curve his lips, but he wasn’t able to speak a word before there was a blade at his throat, Vea appearing like she appeared out from the mist, but it was most likely just unnoticed as their eyes trained on the egg. 

“Stay back.” The two women hissed at once, their eyes glowing with rage as confusion simmered within him, his heart finally catching up with seeing them, brows furrowed. When they didn’t take a step back, the blade pressed past his chestpiece and gently grazed against his neck, the cold steel chilling his skin. 

“How…” He began, when the falling and shifting of rocks above them interrupted his speech, raising an arm to cover his face when the last thing he was ever expecting to see landed in front of him. A large, hulking beast, shining like the finest gold on its skin, landed between Tea and Vea, a threatening crackle in it’s throat as it surveyed them. It’s red eyes bored into Geralt, and he felt as if it was trying to entrance him. That it did, and his hand left its spot on the hilt of his sword, his own head tilting slightly as he tried to take in all of the details of this beast. He knew they were rare, he was told stories of other witchers encountering them. But none of the explanations would give the beast justice. 

The dragon seemed to let out a breath of tension, seeing both Geralt and Yennefer watching it with awe instead of readying their weapons. It’s long neck rose from its threatening stance, and it looked regal as it sat, the wings folding to its side like a king. Tea and Vea saw the dragon relax, and let their spears stand at their sides, their body language relaxing as if they were one. Finally, the dragon spoke, and though it’s shining teeth clacked to imitate speech, the voice was heard in Geralt’s head as opposed to his ears.

“Sir Witcher and the Sorceress.” Yennefer and Geralt shared a quick glance, both knowing this was Borch and yet not. 

“How are you alive, Borch?” The words felt foolish as they left Geralt’s mouth, and he could almost hear Jaskier’s melodic laugh to the obvious question. Borch chittered deep in his chest, and Geralt guessed that was the closest to laughing the creature could naturally possess. He shifted on his feet uneasily, a million questions that he couldn’t ask churning in his head, like eels in a pool, Yennefer would muse.

“A dragon should not die from something so simple as a slip, dear Witcher.” The voice in his head was slightly mocking, before the voice evened out into seriousness. “I couldn’t have revealed myself to you then, I feared that you would flee if you would not understand why I seeked your help.” Borch moved his tail slightly, so that the egg was visible again.

“You want us to help you save it.” Yennefer spoke simply, her eyes glued to the unborn creature with awe. “Why can’t we move it to a more secure area?” She said, and though the two warrior women smiled slightly at her readiness to assistance, they shook their head. 

“It cannot be moved until it has hatched, or the life will slip from it.” Vea said simply, her jaw tightening in clear frustration of the situation. This all made sense now, they were Dryads who had sworn to protect the dragon with their lives. 

“So I humbly ask your assistance, Witcher and Sorceress.” The thundering voice said in their heads again. “You were trained to spare dragons, Witcher, not slaughter.” Geralt nodded slightly, and yes, his mentors looked against killing dragons. The few witchers that had, for the coin, carried the title for the rest of their days. The act admired by people and scorned by witchers. 

Geralt opened his mouth to agree when the reavers clunking armor and loud steps made the both of them turn, both faces with mirrored exasperation. The group of them, twenty or so, eyed the both of them with malicious intent, blades sharp and casting rough shadows. Geralt unsheathed his blade with a scowl, seeing the familiar eyes full of bloodlust focus on him. He twirled the blade in his hand, and the silver shone in the soft light that streamed through the vines. He could feel the crackling energy rising from Yennefer’s chest and filling the air as a dangerous smile graced her face. Borch let a deep hiss rumble from his chest as he looked over the reavers, head tilting as he scented the air like Geralt did when there was danger. Geralt wasn’t sure why Borch didn’t just envelope the group in flames, Geralt was sure he was strong enough to do so. But he just looked over them, teeth glittering against the light, before he seemed to look down to Tea, who nodded.

That was all it took for Borch to spread his wings in the cave, copper undertones on the skin, unfurling like the finest of silks against the bleach white rocks. The simple act made some of the reavers shift uneasily, but they stood still, waiting for the command to lunge themselves into the fight. Boholt opened his own mouth to rally his warriors when Borch bared open his maw and let out a screech from deep in his chest, the sound deafening out all as it reverberated against the walls, forcing Geralt to drop his sword to cover his ears, feeling them begin to bleed. 

The cry was over as soon as it started, though, and it took everyone in the room more than a few moments, other than the Dryads, to recover. Yennefer sighed, and wiped a drop of blood from her ear, her breath light as her eyes wandered up to Geralt’s, a mix of confusion and awe. They shared the look, the reavers now moaning and muttering curse words in pain, their own blood dripping into the dirt and staining the rocks. 

After a few moments of everyone recuperating from the blow the cry had given, the reavers stood again, ready to fight again when the rocks around them began to shift, dust falling from the ceiling. Geralt’s gaze went to the outside of the cave, seeing the leaved vines that covered the entrance still for an unsettling moment against the rocks, the world quiet as in preparation of whatever was coming. And it soon did, the wind quieting against a new, earsplitting song rung through the air, much louder and shrill than Borch’s. The sound brought a few of the reavers to their knees, and Geralt saw Boholt spit out a mix of saliva and blood at the truly terrifying noise, the rocks beginning to tremble as if they would soon burst as well. and it took all but a moment for the light from the entrance to be snuffed out, the shake of the rocks holding new weight as Geralt looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief at what he saw. 

Another damn dragon, a red one at that, clung to the entrance of the cave, effectively trapping the reavers in the cave. It also raised its beautiful red wings, the complex posture mirroring Borch, making Geralt realize that he had called upon this dragon for help. It finally lowered its head and with that, the song it sang ended, leaving huffs of effort and pain from every human around it. It’s teeth shone in the nearly blacked out cave, a deep thrum of a growl coming from deep in its throat. Geralt was even more entranced than he was seeing Borch, and he would blame the low light for the way his pupils dilated if Yennefer asked. The dragon was built more lean than Borch, it’s taloned feet shifting for better purchase on the rocks as it looked among the men, among its prey. 

When it’s eyes met Geralt’s, however, its head lowered, looking at him, Geralt finally meeting its glacier blue eyes, feeling as if he had just been given a paralysis potion. The red of it was like his dreams, it was so vivid, so beautiful and somehow familiar. The hand that had picked his blade back up dropped it lighter than a feather, the clang on the rocks but an echo as the dragon let out a peaceful purr, its maw closing, Geralt’s hand itching to stroke it’s face as it seemed to bend to him, it’s threat display over as it bent it’s head to be facing him. When Geralt went to touch it though, something beat him to it. A sword, to be exact, gouging itself to be lodged in the creatures cheek by its eye, Geralt wincing at the cry of pain that left it as emerald blood spilled from its wound, the dragon rearing up again, trying to shake the blade off of it’s face. A flash of hot rage spilled over Geralt’s eyes, and he lunged forward with a roar, tackling the reaver who had harmed the beast, feeling rabid as he felt the man’s bones crunch under his fists, blood coating his fists as he heard the usual cacophony of fighting explode around him, his vision tunneled at murdering this soul underneath him. 

The man had began to beg, began to give up, his body sagging and taking each blow from Geralt while staying still, his face already swollen beyond recognition, blood spilling from every orifice visible. Yet Geralt persisted, the rage behind his eyes not fading to Yennefer’s words of him to move onto the next poor soul, until he heard the familiar screech above him, short and brief. Not to injure him, to simply bring attention back to the creature that takes his breath away. He looked up, his vision coming back to him, seeing the dragon look down to him, shoving him gently off of the body, making Geralt confused. The dragon was asking mercy on the man? He didn’t ask questions, and tried to shake how familiar the pleading blue eyes seemed. He didn’t try to go after the man again, sure he would bleed out on his own. He huffed out a breath of stress, and his hand lingered on the creatures snout for a moment before he rolled back to stand, holding his blade, finding another target. 

Vea roared as she jumped forward, slicing off a reaver’s head without effort, the thud of the head hitting the ground and the blood spurting across her face familiar, landing forward on her knees, Tea taking the chance to sprint forward and launched over her, her staff finding a new home in a raider’s chest, the crack of bones and piercing of flesh dull against her efforts, Tea landing with a huff, taking a moment to breath and then turning to help Vea up from her own position, a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before the both of them looked at the fight unfurling like a flower in the sun in front of them. 

Yennefer let out a scream of rageful Elder, a reaver falling to the ground, his own skin peeling off of him like bark off of a dry tree. The man screamed in ragged pain, his muscles spasming at the exposure to the air, skin falling off of his face to reveal a horrible mess of blood. He fell forward, dead as soon as he had laid eyes on her, and she gave a small smile, her eyes pinning themselves to Boholt. 

Boholt was occupied with the red dragon at the mouth of the cave, blade up in a defensive position as the dragon targeted him after downing one of his friends, bones falling from its teeth as it coiled its neck to strike, Boholt barely dodging the sickening snap of it’s jaw aimed at his head, instead the teeth sinking into his arm, blood spilling down as the dragon tightened its grip on the cracking bone. Boholt spat angrily, lodging a blade into the ridged plate above its eye as it snapped his arm clean off, shaking Boholt as it did, like a crocodile rolling to dismember its prey, the blade lodged in its face ignored as it opened its mouth in a threatening gape, tongue thrashing as its hiss filled the room, tail dragging itself against the rocks to make a threatening sound, teeth shining with blood and flesh. 

The blade in the beasts head, however, began to sizzle and bubble, making the dragon shake in confusion, the poison clearly muddling its head as it’s winged talon went to swipe it off, occupied with trying to free the blade from it’s scales, a displeased cry leaving it’s throat. Boholt took the moment to his advantage, and grabbed a blade from a corpse of his fallen team, twisting it in his hand, raising it to strike the creature, a sickeningly disgusting smile on his face. He was too focused to see Yennefer raise her hand his way, the blade in his hand beginning to glow red hot, as if fresh off the smithing fire, the metal burning and blistering his hand as Boholt shouted in pain, his one hand now unuseable.

After a moment his rotting gaze moved to focus on her, not able to move more than a few steps before she lunged forward, and dug her dagger deep into his throat, twisting it just to see his face contort in more pain with a perfect smile before the awareness faded from his eyes and his body slumped onto her arm. She sneered, pulling the dagger from the throat, stepping aside gracefully as the lifeless body met the ground for the last time. 

A soft chitter made her look up, and the dragon lowered its head, sniffing the corpse before looking up at her, glacier blue eyes searching hers as he let her step forward, tilting his head so she could pull the dagger from his scales, her hand instantly healing the gouged out spot, awe in her movements, at the fact that this beast was allowing her to help. She tried to implant this moment in her brain. 

Geralt was in the middle of fighting two reavers while Yen battled Boholt, able to dodge most of the offending blows with ease, when one of them landed an especially good hilt of the blade at his jaw, making Geralt fall back for a moment, anger boiling through his veins as he swept his leg to trip one of them, then kicking the man in the face, hearing the crunch of teeth being dislodged. He could hear Jaskier’s voice in the back of his head complaining about the blood on the new boots. 

The other reaver went to lunge into an attack on Geralt, when a stream of molten fire set the man ablaze, Geralt turning to cover his head as he could feel the burning heat so close to him. He was grateful for the otherwise coolness of the floor on his skin, hearing the ragged and broken screams of a man being burned alive not inches from him. He only looked up when the heat in the air dissipated, and saw the very red dragon responsible lunge its long neck and teeth into the man lying next to Geralt in terror, raising the shuddering man into the air and shaking roughly before the head was easily dislodged from the corpse, both flying, flesh and blood coating the white walls with red. 

And with that, the threat was gone, bodies upon bodies of enemies littering the floor, the room finally, truly, silent. Not even the wind moving for a moment. Geralt looked around the room to the carnage, and finally, to the dragon. It had finally let the tension leave its moments, and was all grace as it moved deeper into the cave, Geralt slowly standing to see it. It stopped in between Geralt and Yennefer for a moment, Yennefer smiling up to it in absolute, childlike, wonder. Geralt’s own face must have been some sort of admiration, because it let its head brush against the two of them softly before walking towards to Borch, head high as a guarding sentinel of the egg. The red dragon lowered its head, sniffing towards the egg and watching closely to see the embers still glow, before raising its head to meet Borch’s. It was slightly smaller and more lean than the gold dragon, still a terrifyingly imposing figure to humans, though. The two of them clacked their teeth and chittered to eachother, all animalistic words that were shared. What Geralt would give to understand what was being said, Yennefer now standing by him as they watched the two creatures converse like the sky and sea.

They seemed to have ended whatever was said, the calls dying in both of their throats, before the red dragon seemed to humanly nod at Borch, and paused, looking back at the two ‘humans’ for a fleeting moment before it’s wings lifted, Geralt admiring watching the body coil like a spring ready for flight, before the beast leaped out of the small opening at the top of the cave, the deep swoop of air unsettling the dust and leaves in the room. Geralt strained his ears to listen to the steady beat of the wings, before all was silent again. He gulped, wishing the creature would have stayed, or even spoke to him in his head as Borch had done. Whatever piece of him he thought it had was gone again. 

Only then did he hear bones cracking, the ripping of skin, and he watched, as rather horrifically, Borch returned to his human form, though he seemed barely winded at the painful transformation as Vea threw his golden coat over his shoulders quickly, a soft hand wiping sweat from his cheek before stepping back, her spear as threatening as ever as she and Tea, funnily enough, was guarding the creature that could end all of the people in this cave as effortlessly as a human swatting a fly.

Borch opened his mouth to speak, eyes shimmering red for a moment before fading to a human hazel, when the loud voices and quick footsteps of the dwarves approached from the trail they had came from, making Geralt roll his eyes, exasperation simmering under his skin at the loud and… unintelligent voices reached his ears. Sure, Jaskier talked a lot, but it had a way of growing on him, a way that Geralt was sure theirs never could. The dwarves were hard working folk, miners and now explorers, and clearly wanted to have a moment of glory and dragon slaying as any other humanoid thrill seeker would, or should, so when they finally arrived at the cave opening with the tumbling of rocks and saw the blood and guts, corpses strewn across the room, some barely recognizable as human, their faces flitted with rage, loud voices now complaining of missing all of the fun.

Geralt stayed silent by Borch as they began to barter, arms crossed, finding himself also now invested on how this was going to go, while Yennefer’s eyes looked up to the opening in the cave, curiosity clear in her eyes, along with something that began to click in her head, a red painted curl of her lips on her face and she slightly shook her head, stifling a laugh, looking over to Geralt and wondering if he knew. If he did, he would have already been gone down the trail, dumb fool. She turned away from Geralt and silently slipped away from the commotion, up to the trail to investigate.


	6. The purring panther.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer goes ahead to camp, and finds more than she expected to.
> 
> Geralt, on the other hand, finds nothing but the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait yall! I got into a bit of a rut but I'm back in it!!:DD

Yennefer walked silently against the rocks, the sun hardly moving it’s space in the clear sky as she went up the path, the small patches of grass that wedged themselves into the rock faces around her billowing softly in the wind, which was as calm as she’d seen it, no whistles in her ears, just the soft sway of a summerlike breeze. Unusual for this altitude, she would later note. She couldn’t help but smile, letting her breath inhale sharply as she shook her head, many questions arising as she began to really think about the scene she had just witnessed. The simple bard she had known for more than a few decades had been cloaking himself all along. She wasn’t sure if the fact he had even hid it from her unsettled her, or made pride bloom in her chest. She shook her head again, she was going to be sure to ask him the questions when she arrived. That thought made her stop, though, doubt clouding her. 

As much as Yennefer wanted to sate her endless hunger of knowledge, she wondered. Would Jaskier even want to give it? If he had hidden it from them this long, he probably wasn’t going to sit down with her for drinks and explain it all. In fact, if she remembered correctly, something had gone down with Geralt and Jaskier the night before, Geralt having walked into her room feeling of horrible tension and discomfort. She noted that this would probably make him even less receptive to questions. A gentle push of wind touched her back, though, urging her forward. It was better her to find him than Geralt, she decided. Her face steeled with determination, and she continued up the path, speeding up as she approached. Tension jumped in her chest when she heard a pained screech break sharply into a human cry, and she nearly broke into a sprint up the hill, revealing as she ran over the crest a scene that even made her battle hardened stomach churn.

Magic was strong in the air, and Jaskier seemed to be mid transformation back to the one she knew, grand red wings shrinking and seizing into his back, claws turning to arms, the skin wilting. She then saw the muscles strongly contracting and warping, hearing a groan of pain come from him, along with the sharp cracks of bones as his neck retracted, the strong smell of blood filling the air as the brilliant red scales faded to the soft cream, red marks and bruises littering the freckled skin. She frowned, and would never admit to the panic in her throat, gulping as she saw him turn his head from the dirt, gasping in air suddenly like he had been surfaced from water, and she could see the tears streaming down his face. It made her wonder, did it always hurt this much? She hoped it didn’t, as the imagery of his now small body shaking in the grass, chest heaving.

Perhaps it was only this bad because it was new. She doubted he had ever done it in the last thirty years. He probably preferred being the happy and smiling bard, as opposed to the beast she had seen moments ago. He must have been truly tired, because he did not move or seem to hear her approach, her steps soft in the grass. She almost felt wrong, approaching him felt more like going up to a wild cat now than her softly demeanored friend. But his soft cries drew her closer, and she wondered if this was what it was like to be enchanted, a warm emotion blooming in her chest, protection and adoration coming to the forefront of her mind. Purposeful or not, she now desired nothing more than to care for him. She took in a breath, unsure as to how he would react, and in turn attempting to make her voice as soft as possible without magic, ignoring the slight tremor in her hand. 

“Jaskier, are you alright?” She began, and she saw his eyes open quickly, still an inhuman and glittering blue, seeing his muscles strain to bring himself to stand, the fear in his eyes making her heart lurch as he turned to look at her. He huffed, trying his hardest to stand but unable to do so, legs wobbling until he sat on his knees facing her. She could feel the energy of fear and panic begin to simmer off of him, and when he spoke, it was broken and pained, sounding like glass scratching against metal, nowhere near the soft singing tune that usually surrounded him. 

“Yennefer-” He began, but speaking seemed to pain him just as much as sitting up, him wincing and tensing, his mouth shutting as quickly as it had opened, the fear in his stature rising as she stepped forward. She frowned, and she could clearly see him shaking, like a pup away from its mother’s teat. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke even more as she finally reached him, his head turning down to not meet her eyes, her noticing the way his neck was exposed by the action, as if it was a beast that had been bested and accepted it. 

The shame was clear in his face as he eyed the dagger on her hip with a gulp, his face contorting into a look of fear. He braced himself for the worst, not willing to defend himself against her. But her gaze softened from it’s steel, and instead of unsheathing her dagger, the feelings in her chest grew stronger, and her hand went down to his face to cup the searing skin that nearly burned to touch, her thumb gently brushing over the new gouge of a cut underneath his eye. It was deep, and would no doubt scar, she noted. She could feel the beat of his heart through the skin. He was tense, taut like a stringed bow, when she squinted, noticing that the blood was still emerald green, a strong unnatural color against his light skin. 

She tilted her head softly, and when he realized she was looking at it, his eyes shone for a moment, and to her amazement, the blood shimmered and turned to the deep human red she would find familiar. A simple illusion spell. She gave him a smile, an odd feeling in her chest to see his own magical talents he had concealed from her for so long. The soft touch and smile made him wince, but he finally willed himself to look up into her violet eyes, his now back to their human blue. It seemed as if he was afraid, but he also leaned into her touch, a breath of tension releasing. She had never seen the bard so relaxed, or so quiet.

“No apologies, lark. Though I admit you did surprise me. Are you alright?” The words felt foreign on her lips, slick like an oil against her tongue she could never wash off, and she realized she had never spoken so… lovingly. The snarling panther she was so used to being was now a mere cub, purring and content. She’d never embraced another in this way, especially not the one she thought she had loathed so much. Perhaps his poems were rubbing off on her tough exterior.

\--

It had taken longer than Geralt would have liked for the dwarves to be satisfied with the gift Borch had given them as a payment to collect the bounty, far too many spits of words shared before they had finally settled into a proper payment for missing the epic battle, a few bloodied dragon's teeth. They were each the size of a palm and they all shimmered from more than just blood, the potent magic ability in the bones palpable in the air, though Geralt sincerely doubted that the dwarves could sense it. He wasn’t sure where Borch had gotten the teeth from, he wondered if they were pulled directly from his own maw, or if they were the teeth of the fallen mother that lied in rest with her egg in the cave behind them. He supposed it was best not to know, and even worse to imagine the latter. Sure, he had harvested plenty of beasts, but dragons were no animal in the forest, they were just as intelligent of creatures as humans were, or probably moreso. 

It had taken him a moment to realize that Yennefer had left him, guessing that she had gone back to camp to gain travelling time. Last he was paying attention, he smelled the soft scent of humor seeping through the sourness of adrenaline, seeing the dwarves come into the bloody cave just moments too late, due to Yennefer’s freezing spell that she had used earlier. It was humourous to see the look of shock on their faces, though he’d never admit it out loud. Yennefer wasn’t kidding when she said they’d find out what was coming to them for crossing her. The dwarves had eventually gone their own way, all jovially chuckling, happy with their newfound bounty. 

“It’s been nice, Borch, but I’m taking my leave. Good luck with everything.” Geralt said gruffly, looking back to Borch, who gazed at him with another look that was hard to pinpoint, but the look was knowing, wise, and it crawled underneath his skin. If there was something Geralt hated truly, it was not knowing intentions, which happened more often than he would like. The gold dragon, or man, shook his head, raising a placating hand, much to Geralt’s distaste.

“You’ve been a great help to us, Geralt. Please allow me to at least escort you back to camp to collect your things. It’s the least we can do.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping over his shoulders as Tea and Vea both nodded, and began to walk, encouraging Geralt to do the same. He sighed, lips formed into a fine line as he was now given no choice. But he went along anyway, it didn't matter how many people were going, only the destination mattered, where Yennefer and Jaskier waited, probably switching prickly banter. The thought of the two of them made a small smile curl his lip.

He arrived to wind beginning to stir once more, the grass whipping across the rocks, clouds now beginning to hug the rock faces. The sun was now smothered in passing clouds, the air now all the much cooler, the light no longer a warm blanket against the breeze. His eyes finally fell to see Yennefer, standing at the edge of the cliff just a ways away from the campsite, fog curling it’s way against her ankles, silhouette strong and alone as she looked over the rolling hills. He smelled regret and apprehension on her skin, but it was gone as soon as it was detected, quickly flowered and covered with magic when she heard his steps approach her, posture stiff as she turned to look to him, eyes only briefly flitting to Borch before back to him, an all too beautiful smile on her face, though it didn’t fully reach her lavender eyes.

“Welcome back, Geralt. Did your rather short friends accept the losers bounty?” He heard the humor in her tone, along with a sharpness that he didn’t usually detect, like the humor was meant to mask, and he shrugged, letting himself go along with the rolling of banter, trying not to feel unsettled by her gaze boring itself into his skin.

“I suppose, Borch gave them teeth, and with some rumbling they went on.” She nodded, smile turning sour, a hum of acknowledgement rising from her chest as she looked back to the cliff with a look he couldn’t pin, her eyes searching the clouded peaks, her breath quickening.

“Yes, everything worked out as planned Geralt.” Her voice had lost the sweetness as she turned back to him, humor gone from the tone, voice bitter. Her violet eyes piercing his unexpectedly. “Just like it always does, him?” He suddenly felt as if he were being sized up by a viper, like her neck was arching, preparing to strike, and he glanced to Borch, Tea and Vea, whose faces lacked any expression as they stood in silence. 

“What are you talking about, Yen?” He asked, feeling as if he wasn’t fully aware as to where this conversation was headed, at least, he hoped he didn’t. Her posture was stiff and poised as she stepped away from the cliff, her steps deafening as she approached him, eyes filled with venom and distaste. 

“What? You thought I wouldn’t piece it together eventually, Geralt?” He gulped, and it wasn’t often dialogue made his heart quicken like it did now. “You may be a fantastic swordsmen,” She said with a pause, her gaze predatory as she was now face to face with him, making him desire to avert his eyes, “But you’re not quite a good liar.” The words were filled with hatred, making him suddenly feel small.

He gulped, not sure how to respond, so instead of apologizing, or lacking any sense in general, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yennefer.” Those words sparked fire in her eyes, and her scowl was more sick than he had ever seen, her hair whipping in the wind, making her look like an all powerful, and rageful force, he never expected that to be focused on him.

“No? You don’t? Well let me clear it for you,” She spat, “You, oh great Geralt of Rivia, chained me to you using a goddamn wish!” She was boiling now, and every word became more wrathful, until she was screaming in his ears, the words ringing in the air so strongly he was pushed back with a burst of magical rage, and he grunted, rolling back onto sharp rocks, falling onto his side as she stalked after him. No, no no no. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, he thought. Despair was quick to rise in his gut like a bad meal wanting to surface. He raised an arm to shield himself from the dirt she had kicked in his face as he lied on the ground helplessly, shaking his head. “None of the hogshit between us was real, witcher! All just you warping destiny and my will so I could warm you at night!” Each word felt worse than any wound he could ever have from a blade or claw, and he shook his head vainly, feeling everything around him fall apart like a beautiful palace turning to sand slipping through his fingers.

“No Yen, it was real,” He said desperately, but for the very first time in his life since he had become a witcher, he sounded meek, like he was trying to convince himself of the words, conviction shaking in the tone. She stepped over him, eyes glowing, and a venomous scowl on her lips. 

“You’re a fucking liar, Geralt. A sick fuck who only does what pleases yourself, and only cares about what you want. You act like you stop monsters, but you never stop your goddamn self!” She yelled, and it was raw with rage and fire. He felt more like prey than he ever had, miserable and weak, not able to lift himself from the ground. What she was saying was true, and he knew it in his bones.

She scoffed at his silence, at his stillness, though he knew it would enrage her more if he tried to defend it. He finally spoke, and the air was thick with a bitter and poignant scent of hatred.

“I’m sorry, Yennefer.”

“As you damn well should be. Sorry for the rest of your days, because this is it between us, Geralt. Fuck destiny and fuck your wishes.” She said, turning from him and spitting on the ground next to him, until a sick smile went across her face. “Seems it wasn’t only me that was done with you. Have fun walking the cold ground alone, witcher.” She said with finality and wrath. Confusion was now on the forefront of his mind, but before he could open his mouth to speak, she turned away from him for what he feared was truly the last time, walking through a portal she had summoned with a flick of her fingers. All at once, the rageful simmering of magic in the air was gone, making him feel the deep pang of loss in his chest, before it was overwhelmed with an even more poignant fear, and he finally sat up from the chilled ground, the ache in his muscles ignore as only one thought going through his mind, which he asked out loud. 

“Where’s Jaskier?”

He had nearly ran in his haste to the actual camp, his usual careful footing stumbling against the rocks. The sky was nearly dark now, the clouds churning like the fear in his gut, the howling wind deafening everything else around him as if it was rageful at him, for what he had done. He stopped in his tracks at the place he had helped Jaskier set down his bedroll not but hours before, frowning to see it still there, furs lightly billowing in the wind like Jaskier could still be peacefully curled in them, mellow and carefree, away from the danger of the dragons. But he wasn’t, and, to Geralt’s horror, his lute was still there, along with his red doublet. 

The fear in his stomach actually threatened to go up his throat, and he had to suppress the gag that threatened to overtake him as he knelt to hold the prized possession. Borch was still beside him, wordless as they both surveyed all of the items on the bedroll and around it. It was all still there, like he had just risen to search for them, for Geralt… He didn’t want to imagine what he could have possibly encountered up here if he had truly been foolish enough to search for his friend, which he very much was. He took a deep inhale, trying to use the air for clues. But whatever lingering scents of emotions that could have clued him were gone in the howling wind.

“Where would he have gone?” He said, which finally made Borch step forward, standing next to a leaning Geralt, whose hands were gentle against the elven lute, hearing Jaskier threaten him to hold it carefully in his ears. He couldn’t begin to fathom the loss in his chest, fearing all of the fates that could have gone upon Jaskier, none of which good, given that he had left his most special and cared for possession behind. Jaskier was impulsive, even when it was unwise, and it made Geralt nearly shake, fear and loss, both unfamiliar to him, flooding behind his eyes. Everything was going truly wrong.

“That I do not know, witcher. That which I do know, is that your destiny is still out there, and I hope you to find it.” Geralt scowled, and if it were anything less important in his hands he would have crushed it. But instead he sighed deeply, and slung the lute over his shoulders. Destiny didn’t matter, not when Jaskier was nowhere to be found. He began to gather his things, careful to keep the nice folding to the red clothes as he put them in their sack along with the furs that still had his lingering smell when it was brought to Geralt’s nose. Without another look back, he went off to the trail. Off to find him. It was only when he was far enough away that his breath caught in his throat, feeling truly alone for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t expect it to be so heavy in his chest.


	7. The sea of the sky.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is headed home, and reflects on his time with Yennefer.

The sun began to peek its way through the ever dispersing clouds the further away Jaskier got from that mountain, thank Melitele, for Jaskier was very much not used to the feeling of the wind underneath this wings, and the heightened visibility helped qualm the churning in his gut as he looked down, seeing trees far down below like bread crumbs on a feast table. He tried his best to focus on the constant cadence of beating his wings instead of Geralt, instead of Yennefer. It was hard to keep his mind from wandering back to the conversation he had had just hours ago, a ghost of a touch still on his cheek, making him close his eyes for a brief moment, remembering the words shared.

“No apologies, lark. Are you alright?” The words had brought him back to himself when he heard them, making the ache of bones and muscles wane to her words. He swore that dagger’s poison must still be in his system, because he had never heard the softness in her voice like this. It could be a jab, but when he looked into her eyes, he had found no mischievous twinkle, only the shining of concern. Alright then, maybe she had a change to the tune of her lute. He was going to crack some sort of joke, a jest that would disperse the tension in the air, when he remembered his actions, and the ones he was yet to do. The gulped, brows furrowing, thinking of how he was going to explain it. 

“No. Not now.” He said, and even in seriousness, his words were full of drama. But it was true, he wasn’t. Physically, yes, his wounds would heal, and he had no mortal danger as of the moment. But his heart? It was as ripped up as the corpses of his enemies, Geralt’s words ringing in his ears stronger than the thrumming pain of the gouge in his face. “Geralt went to your tent last night, did he speak of anything when he did?” He remembers feeling the hand on his cheek stiffen, and he feared she would pull it away, but instead of it wavering, it held him closer, Jaskier leaning into it.

“No. He came in. Not much for words, but he looked pained. And wished for rest.” She said simply, but the furrow in her brow made him think that she was now wondering what had happened. He shrugged, all the strength weeping from his body.

“I had asked him to..” Jaskier had began when his breath caught in his throat. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, unfortunately. It had happened when he was booed by courts, it had happened when he was young, first learning to fly, it had happened when Geralt looked at him. But he hated it the most now, under Yennefer’s gaze, “Go with me, to the coast. Away from all this mess.” He said simply, but Yennefer was smart, he knew this, and he could tell she knew what he meant beyond the words. “And he left me alone. Called me a damn fool.” His voice was small now, eyes looking down to the dirt he felt he could sink into, feeling as useless as a dulled sword. Thrown away when deemed unusable.

“Jaskier.” Her voice commanded his eyes to meet hers again, “You may be a romantic man, and an impulsive one, but you are anything but a fool. Loving is no fault, despite what he would have you think.” Her words had the strength and conviction of stone. Unwavering in it’s truth. And all at once, when he looked at her, it was as if she had picked up the blade Geralt had dropped. His view of her changed, he had always seen her as the thing in the way of him and Geralt, but she wasn’t that, not really. It was as if the cloud of jealousy had wafted away in the breeze, and he saw her as she was, a good woman. “If that is what he truly thinks, then he doesn’t deserve your songs of praise.” Stone she may be, but she was cool to the touch, and her thumb caressed him, making him nod, unable to protest. Words were stuck on his tongue, and she seemed to sense it, tilting her head slightly as the beating in his chest grew stronger. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her this, but she deserved to know what Geralt was keeping from her.

“Yennefer. I was speaking with Borch while we were ascending the mountain. He told me that Geralt’s destiny was swayed, by a wish.” She frowned, posture stiffening, if only slightly. But that was the only tell to discomfort she gave him, and only nodded for him to continue. Jaskier huffed, as if trying to prepare himself for the rage that was going to come forth. “His last wish Yennefer, it was you.” There was no grimace on her face, no tightening of fists, only a sharp exhale, her lips forming into a tight line. 

“Sounds like him.” She said, and the words were sharp, and curt as she looked away from him for a moment, trying to collect herself. He could feel her fighting against the waves of magic threatening to burst out of her chest. He brought up a hand to hold her’s that was still on his face, making her violet eyes, shining with magic, look back to him, the electricity in the irises dimming. 

“I’m sorry, Yennefer. You didn’t deserve that.” Something in their shared gaze switched, and she seemed to be truly sentimented by the words. This they both knew, that they were truly cursed with loving Geralt of Rivia. 

“It doesn’t matter now.” She said, still quick and short, but lacking the suffocating manner it had moments ago. “Where will you go, now?” She seemed to know he wasn’t staying, and it let him exhale a breath of relief that he didn’t have to say the words out loud, the mere idea of it making him wince. He sighed, and looked off to the cliffs, to the sky, and the clouds, all gently calling to him like the sea calling sand back to its depths with its gentle laps against sandbeds.

“I don’t know.” He said, a clear lie. Jaskier knew exactly where his wings would take him, to the coast he hadn’t seen in a century, isolated and warm, away from the woes of man, where he could smell the salt and lay in the warm rocks, glide down the cliffs and dive into the warm water. “Probably somewhere warmer.” She laughed at that, and then her hand left his cheek, making him feel a loss of comfort he didn’t expect. But then both of her hands held his arms, and helped him rise into standing, letting him fall forward onto her, legs wobbling for purchase like a newborn foal. 

“I mustn't keep you waiting then, dragon.” She said lightly, helping him walk his way up to the cliff, the both of them looking down it’s rocky depths. “I’ll keep your secret safe, if you must go.” She said simply, her voice holding a sad tone that again, he didn’t expect. He didn’t think any of what he expected had happened today. The hand that held his arm went to his shoulder, making him pry his eyes away from his newfound fate. “But promise me this, once you’re done languishing, come back to me. I have many questions that we don’t have time for.” The sentiment of the statement made his heart wrench. He had asked Geralt to come with him. Geralt refused. Jaskier had decided to leave, and Yennefer had asked him to return. 

“Surely, Yen. I can even make you a special ballad if you’d like.” The sentence made her laugh, but the smile didn’t truly meet her eyes when the laugh faded. Her eyes lingered with his, until she turned her head back to look up at the sky, bittersweetness tanging the air. It made him feel something he didn’t know he could, it made him long to stay. 

“If you feel inclined.” She said simply, making Jaskier smile, head already humming the tune he would eventually choose. They stood in silence for a moment before Yennefer sighed, turning back to him, brows turned up sadly but smile wide. “Until we meet again, lark.” She said, and her voice was warmer than any sunray as she leaned in, giving him a simple peck of a kiss on his cheek. He smiled back, feeling all too hesitant to leave now. “Go.” She encouraged, and her hand left his shoulder. He nodded, and his feet slowly brought him off the rocks as he fell, body instantly changing and warping, Jaskier seeing the rocks and trees come all too close until the overwhelming pain ceased, and the newly sprouted wings from his back swooped him up, the elation of it making Jaskier let out a pleased call, oh how he had missed his. He soared up as quickly as he had fallen, but stopped, leveling out where Yennefer was. She smiled looking up at him, and waved. 

“See you, Yen.” Jaskier said in her head, and she nodded. He stayed there for a moment, not wanting to turn away from her, before the wind called to him, drawing him away from this place. He looked back to Yennefer for the last time in what would be a long time, before letting himself go, far away. 

He was brought back into the present by an odd gust of wind that made his body roll with it, Jaskier spinning before his wings fought back against them, beating loudly, making all the clouds disperse from him as he shook his head, a displeased growl leaving his throat. It was one of the first things he had learned while flying, stay focused, or the sea of the sky would swallow you whole. He stayed in that spot for a moment, letting his body level out before he continued, trying to salve the painful thoughts of Geralt with the sweet ones of Yennefer in the back of his mind. Jaskier needed no compass for where he was headed, it pulled him closer like the need to breathe. Jaskier was going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha sorry to leave yall on a cliffhanger for the last chapter! I thought the second half of Yen and Jaskier's convo would be best if it was in his perspective, so i mixed it up a bit! (Also, I know the weather is changing a WHOLE lot in this story lol, I like to think that weather responds to magic, so when Yen is mad, it is cloudy and roaring, but when it is calm, so is the weather!) But I hope yall enjoyed!!<3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading the whole thing! Kudos and comments are GREATLY appreciated, and help me keep the writing juices a-flowing! Please let me know what you think of the work, and what you hope to happen next! I will try my hardest to update this regularly! <33


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